The fifth watch's clappers had just sounded, the sky still dim and unlit, when the clamor of vendors selling breakfast and tea already drifted over the wall from Willow East Alley:
"Rice, millet, and cowpeas! Sugar buns, meat buns, and pea buns here!"
"Thin rice porridge with a touch of wheat, paired with cucumber dipped in sauce—delicious!"
The lively morning breeze made the steam rising from the Shen family’s kitchen seem as if it were being chased out, eagerly escaping through the chimney. Amid this bustling vitality, Shen Miao calmly closed the last layer of the bamboo steamer.
On the sturdy workbench behind her, rows of kneaded dough lay covered with damp cloth, resting and rising. In the corner, a ceramic broth pot quietly exuded the rich, warm aroma of mutton soup. A large mutton bone had been simmering overnight until dawn, forming the base of the broth. Shen Miao had also pre-cut the mutton into large chunks before adding them to the pot. In just a short while, as the meat softened and its essence melted into the broth, the liquid would thicken into a creamy white, its fragrance overflowing.
This mutton soup, made with premium ingredients, could serve as the base for noodles or be enjoyed on its own. Though pork bone broth was also prepared, the mutton soup was Shen Miao’s priority today—she had thrown on her clothes and rushed to the kitchen upon waking to check its progress.
Fortunately, everything was going well. She scooped a spoonful to taste—the broth was smooth but not greasy, and as it slid down her throat, it left behind a comforting warmth, like a small fire settling in her belly.
The buns and steamed bread for the morning’s sale had been prepared the night before. After steaming them early in the morning, Shen Miao found herself with some free time, so she fired up the pan to make griddle cakes and layered flatbreads.
Still, she had already planned to take it easy in the morning, focusing mainly on mutton soup and simple buns. Once the breakfast rush passed, she would slowly prepare the toppings and side dishes needed for lunch and dinner. Now that she no longer had to rush to the morning market at Golden Beam Bridge, even though her offerings were more varied, she felt more at ease.
She planned to open the shop at Chen hour (7–9 AM) to sell breakfast first. Since lunch wasn’t the main meal for Song dynasty folks, she expected fewer customers for noodles and could prepare less, giving herself some rest. In the evening, she intended to stay open later—Bianjing’s night markets were bustling, and the crowds at night were no smaller than during the day. It was common for people to stop by for a hot midnight snack while out strolling.
As for the noodles, Shen Miao planned to focus on her "fried instant soup noodles" and the already-popular zhajiang noodles from the trial run. She also wanted to introduce a few famous and delicious Henan specialties from later generations: "hutou noodles," "steamed noodles," and "braised noodles." She was rather cunning—prepared to win over the ancient Song dynasty locals with classic Henan dishes that had stood the test of a thousand years.
But Shen Miao didn’t dare be overconfident. She would start with these few items, observe the response, and gradually expand the menu.
Once the morning buns and steamed bread were ready, Shen Miao carried two layers of bamboo steamers out to the small cart outside. The charcoal stove on the cart was already lit. Sister Xiang, wrapped in a floral apron and nibbling on a giant fried dough twist as thick as the Monkey King’s staff, nimbly climbed onto the tall bamboo stool. As her elder sister’s designated breakfast vendor, she took her job seriously and had risen early as well.
Settling in, she took a bite of the fried dough twist, sipped some sweet jujube tea, and then began calling out to passersby in her clear, childish voice, reciting the lines Shen Miao had drilled into her for days:
"Skin good, filling good—everyone praises our meat buns!"
"Shen’s big buns—one bun holds an ounce of filling, two buns fill you like a bowl of rice!"
"First bite, soft and fluffy! Second bite, meaty and fragrant! Third bite, your mouth’s full of flavor!"
"Steamed buns and mutton soup! Freshly wrapped, freshly steamed—don’t walk by and miss out!"
Her voice was bright and sweet, like the juicy loquats ripening on early summer branches. Sister Xiang’s plump, adorable appearance only added to her charm. After each call, she’d pause to take another bite of her fried dough twist, sitting there busy and earnest. Even Madam Ning, a matchmaker on her way to the Gu family for a marriage proposal, couldn’t help but stop.
She stepped forward and asked curiously, "What kinds of buns do you have?"
Seeing a customer, Sister Xiang quickly swallowed her mouthful, tilted her head in thought, and began listing the options: "Good morning! My sister said today we have char siu buns, cabbage buns, shredded radish and dried shrimp buns, sweet red bean buns, brown sugar buns, and Lin’an soup dumplings! Which would you like? I’ll pack them for you with these bamboo tongs! My sister said no touching—clean and tidy, so you can eat with peace of mind!"
As she spoke, she picked up the long bamboo tongs from a small jar and snapped them a few times in the air.
Madam Ning, who had no children of her own, was delighted by Sister Xiang’s cheerful, articulate manner. Glancing over the neat little cart, she found most bun flavors familiar—except one. Hesitantly, she asked, "What are these Lin’an soup dumplings you mentioned?"
Sister Xiang straightened up and pointed to a small steamer on another stove. Carefully lifting the lid, she revealed a tray of tiny, pleated dumplings nestled on a clean cloth. "These are Lin’an soup dumplings! Small, with scallion and meat filling—one bite each, so tasty!" She swayed her head, reminiscing about the flavor from yesterday’s taste test. "So good, I could eat a whole tray myself!"
Madam Ning waved away the rising steam. The dumplings were impeccably arranged, their thin skins glistening with meat juices, the aroma of wheat and meat mingling in the air.
A tray held eight dumplings, each plump and delicate—and only ten coppers!
As a young, successful matchmaker, Madam Ning earned hefty fees for every marriage she brokered. In Bianjing, matchmakers and monks were professions that didn’t flaunt wealth but were secretly lucrative. Still, being a matchmaker required family connections, silver-tongued persuasion, and an extensive network—not a job for just anyone.
Wealthy Madam Ning didn’t hesitate. Her throat moved as she said, "I’ll take a tray! And a whole red bean baked bun."
"The soup dumplings are ten coppers, the red bean bun is eight…" Sister Xiang trailed off, counting on her fingers but struggling to add the numbers. Before she could figure it out, Shen Ji, who had just finished helping Shen Miao carry water, overheard and stepped in to assist.
Gently tapping her forehead, Shen Ji smiled at Madam Ning. "That’ll be eighteen coppers in total."
Sister Xiang stuck out her tongue and handed the fried dough twists she was holding to her elder brother for safekeeping. Eagerly, she picked up bamboo tongs and carefully placed the Lin'an-style steamed buns Madam Ning had ordered into neatly folded oil-paper packages. After accepting the payment, she handed them over with both hands, mimicking Shen Miao's mannerisms and tone as she curved her eyes into a practiced, cheerful smile: "Here you go, Auntie! Your buns are ready—come back if you like them!"
When Madam Ning took the package, she touched her own face doubtfully—was she already at the age where children called her "Auntie"? But the fragrant aroma wafting from the package soon stole her thoughts away. She walked to the willow tree at the alley's entrance, turned her back, and plucked out a small steamed bun to take a bite.
The dough was soft and fluffy, chewy yet tender, with some parts soaked in savory meat juices. One bite released a burst of fluffy dough wrapped around rich, braised meat, the broth's umami spreading across her tongue. The skin was thin! The filling generous! And far from being greasy, each mouthful held a delightful surprise, sending waves of flavor all the way down her throat.
She couldn’t stop eating. Who would have thought this newly opened noodle shop could make meat buns so delicious?
She finished the entire basket in one go. Though her stomach was full, her mouth still craved more.
Peering toward the still-closed Gu household in Willow East Alley, Madam Ning glanced at the sky and pondered for a moment before happily giving in to her cravings. She strode back into Shen’s Noodle Shop, calling over her shoulder to Sister Xiang, "Another half-basket of steamed buns, please!"
After placing her order, she took a seat at a table and looked around. The shop was tidy, with neatly arranged tables and chairs, and even the floor was swept spotless. Nodding in approval, she turned her attention to the menu on the wall. At the top, bold characters read: "Shen’s Noodle Shop Menu." Below, smaller characters listed dishes in two columns, each accompanied by charming little illustrations of the food and their prices.
This shop had some clever touches.
Madam Ning was a woman of the world. Having arranged marriages for many high-ranking officials, she had hired a tutor to study for several years, learning to read and broadening her horizons—all to avoid being looked down upon by the elite. Yet she had no talent for poetry or calligraphy, and after a few years of study, she stopped wasting money once she could at least avoid embarrassment in refined company.
Her eyes skimmed the menu before landing on the line: "Clear-Stewed Lamb Soup, 30 coins per bowl."
The accompanying illustration was enticing—a milky-white broth floating with tender meat and scallions, served in a blue-and-white porcelain bowl with delicate steam rising. Though not a meticulous masterpiece, the childlike strokes gave it a playful charm.
She adored lamb in any form—fried, roasted, stewed—and could never resist it. Thirty coins was reasonable for lamb soup, so she called toward the half-drawn burlap curtain separating the kitchen, where shadowy figures bustled about: "And a bowl of lamb soup, please!"
While waiting, she studied the two calligraphy scrolls hanging on the opposite wall. Her eyes lit up, and she gazed at them with keen interest.
Shen Miao hadn’t expected a customer so soon. She acknowledged the order—everything was ready. She ladled a bowl of soup from the earthenware pot, while Sister Xiang, with her short legs, carefully carried a half-basket of four steamed buns on a greased-paper-lined rattan tray to Madam Ning.
Placing the steaming lamb soup sprinkled with scallions before her, Shen Miao smiled. "Your order is complete—enjoy!"
"Wait a moment, shopkeeper," Madam Ning said, pointing at the calligraphy scrolls. "The signature here reads… Xie Jiu? Who is this Xie Jiu? His brushwork carries the grace of a master."
Shen Miao looked up at the two scrolls Xie Qi had sent over the previous night, mounted on plain silk with subtle patterns. From afar, they appeared unadorned, but upon closer inspection, one could see the restrained elegance beneath the ink. One scroll read: "Three meals warmed by the hearth, all seasons in peace." The other: "Spring births, summer grows, autumn reaps, winter stores—nourish in harmony with time."
She wondered if Xie Jiu had seen the small wooden plaque at her back gate, inscribed with "Autumn Blessings, Winter Joy." The words he had sent not only suited the setting of an eatery but also quietly aligned with her own aspirations.
She had no grand ambitions—the life she desired was simply for her family to enjoy "three meals warmed by the hearth" and to "nourish in harmony with time."
Even setting aside Xie Jiu’s fine calligraphy, the sentiments alone had made Shen Miao smile in recognition.
That very night, she had eagerly hammered nails to hang them, standing beneath the scrolls in quiet admiration. At the time, the kitchen was simmering with lamb broth, wrapping her in warmth and savory fragrance. In the lamplight of the closed, empty shop, Shen Ji swayed his head as he recited lessons, while Sister Xiang cuddled a puppy, trying to make it stand on its hind legs—as if to dance with it.
Watching them, then the scrolls, her heart had glowed like a quietly burning ember, wrapped in the embrace of everyday life.
It was strange—that someone could see so deeply into another’s thoughts with such fleeting acquaintance.
Her mind drifted to the scholar tree outside Piyong Academy, where a pair of slender, elegant hands had once brushed her shoulder. How curious, she thought—that someone so gentle, reserved, and polite could possess such piercing insight.
Facing Madam Ning’s curious gaze, Shen Miao recalled Xie Qi’s words at the academy and smiled. "They were written by a friend of mine. He prefers to remain obscure, so I’ll say no more."
"Ah, scholars often have reclusive tendencies—understandable," Madam Ning chuckled, letting the matter drop.
Shen Miao excused herself to return to the kitchen and knead dough, leaving Madam Ning to her meal.
Watching Shen Miao’s tall, slender figure retreat, Madam Ning mused—this noodle shop’s proprietress was no ordinary woman.
In the Song Dynasty’s flourishing culture, calligraphy and poetry were highly prized. Some enthusiasts would pay exorbitant sums for a single well-written character. Some eateries even gained fame overnight simply because a poet had scribbled verses on their walls—regardless of the food’s quality.
Though the calligraphy in this shop wasn’t worth a fortune per character, for such an unassuming little place to boast such refined works was remarkable.
This humble Shen’s Noodle Shop might just have powerful patrons behind it.
Madam Ning stroked her chin and reached her conclusion.
Shen Miao had no idea that her vague remark had made Madam Ning regard her little eatery with newfound respect—and even sparked a flicker of ambition. After all, she knew that Shen Miao had been divorced by her husband. As the most sought-after matchmaker in the Golden Beam Bridge area, Madam Ning had a mental ledger of every unmarried, married, or separated man and woman in the neighborhood. If she could arrange a good marriage for Shen Miao, uniting two families, wouldn’t that also give her a chance to connect with the influential figures behind Shen Miao? Perhaps she could even earn several strings of matchmaking coins in the process…
Distracted, Madam Ning absentmindedly lifted a spoonful of mutton soup to her lips.
The moment the broth touched her tongue, all her idle speculations vanished. The rich, robust flavor exploded in her mouth, instantly dispelling the morning chill. A few more sips, and the tender meat melded perfectly with the savory broth, warming her from head to toe.
Madam Ning’s eyes lit up: What an exceptional bowl of soup!
Originally, she hadn’t held high hopes for such a modest little shop. Everyone in Bianjing loved mutton, but truly well-made mutton soup was rare. Even a connoisseur like Madam Ning had often suffered through bowls of murky, gamey broth that tasted like swamp water, or tough, stringy meat resembling dried grass. After one too many disappointing experiences, she had splurged on a bowl at Fanlou—the renowned restaurant’s mutton soup was indeed divine, like ambrosia itself, but it cost a staggering one hundred and eighty coppers per bowl! And not even a large bowl, but a small one.
Sometimes, Madam Ning mused, Fanlou might as well have been highway robbers—except they at least had the decency to give her a bowl of soup in return.
But this humble eatery’s mutton soup was just as delicious—no, even more so—and cost only thirty coppers! What a bargain!
Moreover, this soup was different from others she’d tasted. It didn’t rely on spices like Sichuan pepper or star anise. Instead, it seemed to be simmered with just scallions, ginger, and salt over a gentle flame, resulting in a clean, pure savoriness. Madam Ning took another blissful sip, pairing it with a small meat bun, and closed her eyes in delight.
Halfway through the soup, she sampled a piece of the meat—and it didn’t disappoint. The broth was milky-white, the meat tender, fragrant, and entirely free of gaminess.
After finishing, she cheerfully paid her bill and couldn’t resist complimenting Shen Miao, who had stepped out to clear the dishes. "Your skills are extraordinary, Madam Shen. This mutton soup rivals Fanlou’s, yet it’s far more affordable. I’ll definitely return for another bowl."
Shen Miao didn’t feign modesty. Instead, she smiled warmly and said, "Thank you. You’re always welcome to come back."
She had put tremendous effort into perfecting this seemingly simple soup—it deserved the praise.
Though mutton was expensive, Bianjing’s residents adored it. Running a proper eatery, rather than just a street stall, required offering dishes at different price points. Shen’s Noodle Shop was located in the inner city, near bustling areas like the Grand Xiangguo Temple and Horse Market Street. After careful consideration, Shen Miao had decided to include mutton soup and mutton noodles on the menu, pricing them as the premium options.
To perfect the broth, Shen Miao had scoured mutton stalls across Bianjing, researching the origins and quality of the meat. Most of the city’s mutton came from a few key sources:
First, the famed salt-pond sheep from Xingqing Prefecture (modern-day Ningxia). These sheep, renowned even in later generations, were nearly free of gaminess, with tender, bright-red flesh that excelled in any cooking method—boiling, stewing, roasting, or frying. However, due to the long journey, Xingqing mutton was exorbitantly priced by the time it reached Bianjing.
Second, lamb from Qinzhou in Longyou. The region’s rolling mountains and lush pastures, rich with medicinal herbs, gave the local sheep a unique herbal fragrance, making them perfect for braised dishes.
Third, Hengshan mutton from Yongxingjun Circuit (modern-day Shaanxi). These sheep grazed on fields of wild onions and thyme, yielding firm, lean meat with a robust flavor—ideal for stewing.
After thorough comparisons, Shen Miao struck a long-term deal with an outer-city stall specializing in Hengshan mutton—"Ox Hammer’s Hengshan Mutton Shop," whose owner, despite his blacksmith-like name, was the only one willing to haggle. They settled on eighty-eight coppers per catty of meat, with two bones thrown in.
With the meat secured, Shen Miao’s process began: first, the bones were simmered overnight for the base broth. The next morning, the meat was cut into chunks, blanched, then stir-fried in hot oil to render out excess fat. A splash of wine was added, followed by scallions and ginger, stir-fried until fragrant.
This step ensured the broth wouldn’t be greasy, while the rendered fat deepened its flavor.
Finally, the meat was boiled in the bone broth over high heat, skimmed of impurities, then simmered on low until the liquid turned creamy white.
Today’s soup featured Hengshan mutton, raised on wild onions and aromatic herbs. Still, Shen Miao hadn’t dared to prepare too much—just one pot, fearing leftovers. If unsold, she, Shen Ji, and Sister Xiang might end up eating mutton until their noses bled.
Later, she sold seven or eight bowls of fried sauce noodles before business slowed.
Mornings weren’t peak hours for noodle shops.
In contrast, Sister Xiang’s stall outside was thriving. Some customers were regulars from Golden Beam Bridge, coming specifically for her red bean buns. Others, lured by the aroma, grabbed a few meat buns and hurried off. Then there were the neighbors, charmed by the sight of the tiny girl diligently tending her stall, who stopped to chat and buy a bun or two.
Shen Ji occasionally stepped out to help Sister Xiang with calculations and money, then returned to wash dishes for Shen Miao. Afterward, he’d grab a broom and cloth to wipe tables and sweep—his fastidiousness surpassing even Shen Miao’s.
While waiting for the Imperial Academy’s exam results, he divided his time between calligraphy, studying, and helping at the shop. He took on every chore—hauling water, scrubbing floors, washing vegetables, organizing ingredients—spinning like a top.
Unable to shoo him away, Shen Miao simply worked alongside him. As she inverted freshly washed bowls to dry, she recalled last night’s trial run: forty-some bowls of noodles sold in half a day, followed by an endless mountain of dishes. She’d urged Shen Ji to rest, but the boy had stubbornly plunged his hands into the soapy water, scrubbing until his fingers turned red.
Shen Miao pondered the current situation. In her past life running a restaurant, dishes could be tossed into industrial dishwashers or outsourced to professional cleaning services. Some small eateries even used disposable tableware, eliminating the need to wash dishes altogether. But here in the Song Dynasty… dishwashing had become a genuine headache.
Whether Shen Ji passed the entrance exams for Piyong Academy or not, she planned to send him to study under a reputable scholar. Even families who didn’t prioritize education wouldn’t treat a child his age like a beast of burden, working him to the bone.
Perhaps she should hire some help.
She recalled that during the busiest brewing seasons in spring and autumn, Aunt Gu’s family would hire temporary laborers through a matchmaking service called the "labor brokers," paying around ninety to a hundred copper coins per day. Tea houses like the one at the bridge market also had idle men waiting for work, but these were unreliable "drifters" who might vanish at the slightest disagreement—hardly a good option.
With the day still young and no customers yet arriving for noodles, Shen Miao instructed Shen Ji and Sister Xiang, "Once you’ve sold all the steamed buns, wheel the cart back to the courtyard. I’m going to Aunt Gu’s place. Keep an eye on things—I’ll be back soon."
The two, busy packing buns for a customer, replied without turning, "Got it!"
Shen Miao decided to detour to Aunt Gu’s first to ask about hiring through the labor brokers, avoiding potential scams by smooth-talking middlemen. But as she reached the rear gate of Aunt Gu’s courtyard, she heard raised voices inside and froze mid-step.
Aunt Gu’s scolding voice carried faintly: "How old are you now, still unmarried? Do you want your father’s lineage to end with you? The eldest son of the Liu family next door, the tofu makers, is your age, and his son is already waist-high! What exactly are you thinking?"
Gu Tusu remained silent. In the tense quiet, another woman’s voice chimed in, "Alright, alright. Since your family hasn’t settled this matter, let’s discuss it another time. Forced matches bear no sweetness. The girls I’ve introduced are all respectable, and their families won’t agree to a hasty marriage. Aunt Gu, consider this trip of mine wasted. I’ll take my leave."
Shen Miao quickly gathered her skirts and fled, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping.
But as she turned, her heart nearly leaped out of her throat—Aunt Li had materialized behind her like a ghost, craning her neck with keen interest. When Shen Miao suddenly turned, Aunt Li pressed a finger to her lips, eyes gleaming as she hissed, "Hush! Let’s hear more."
After a pause, she added confidently, "I spotted Madam Ning entering the Gu residence earlier and knew something was up. Just as I thought! Don’t worry—Madam Ning’s an honored guest. The Gus will see her out through the front gate, not the back."
Shen Miao nearly wept. She truly hadn’t meant to eavesdrop! Now she’d unwittingly become Aunt Li’s accomplice.
Flustered, she waved awkwardly and scurried back across the street to her own home.
Fortunately, she’d returned just in time. Over a dozen men had flooded her shop—all wearing Fanyang hats, waist sashes, and fitted short robes, with long staffs, quivers, or broadswords strapped to their backs. Imperial garrison soldiers!
Beneath their hats, their faces were rough and intimidating, some scarred by blades.
Shen Ji and Sister Xiang, having sold out of breakfast buns, had just wheeled the cart into the courtyard when these men barged in. The children, pale with fright, were about to run for help. Peeking through the curtain, Shen Miao hurriedly hid them inside and stationed Lei Ting by the door. "Stay here. I’ll handle this. It’ll be fine."
Sister Xiang clung to Lei Ting’s neck, tugging Shen Miao’s sleeve. "Be careful, Elder Sister."
Shen Ji, however, darkened with the same fury he’d shown when hearing of her mistreatment by the Rongs. Rolling up his sleeves, he said grimly, "If anything happens, shout. I’ll grab a knife from the kitchen—we’ll fight if we must!"
"No need for that! We’ve done nothing wrong. Just stay put."
Taking a deep breath, Shen Miao pasted on a smile and lifted the curtain. "Good morning, officers. What brings you here?"
She’d only been open a single day—surely she hadn’t broken any laws? Mentally reviewing every dish served yesterday and today, she wondered, Did someone fall ill and report us? But her ingredients were fresh, her hygiene meticulous—even her cleaning rags were color-coded. Besides, her family ate the same food without issue.
Running through worst-case scenarios, she kept her expression calm despite her pounding heart.
The stern-faced middle-aged man at the center of the group spoke gravely, "You are Madam Shen?"
"Yes." Shen Miao straightened instinctively, refusing to show fear.
The man studied her with piercing hawk-like eyes, weathered and unsmiling, before glancing dismissively at the menu on the wall. Unsheathing the saber at his waist, he placed it on the table and said,
"Twelve bowls of that... deep-fried instant noodle soup."
Too tense to process his words, Shen Miao blurted, "Huh?"
"What ‘huh’? The boy’s directions led us here. I’ve combed the entire East Willow Lane—yours is the only Shen household. And you closed absurdly early yesterday—wasted my trip. Hurry up! Twelve bowls of that noodle soup, the kind you just pour hot water over." A younger soldier gestured animatedly to his superior. "Just bring the dried noodles and hot water—we’ll handle the rest!"
Turning to the older man, he added eagerly, "Captain, since you’re free today, let me prepare yours! I watched that boy eat it—it’s like magic. One second it’s dry, the next it’s a full bowl of soup!"
The other soldiers roared with laughter. "Look how obsessed this kid is! He’s been yammering about it nonstop—our ears are calloused! Madam Shen, get cooking before his drool floods your shop!"
The young soldier reddened, scratching his head.
The captain’s lips twitched faintly in amusement.
"Right away!" Shen Miao exhaled in relief, pressing a hand to her chest as she turned. That scared me half to death!
With hot water ready and the pre-fried noodles prepared, she portioned out roasted vegetable flakes, sliced braised meat, and marinated eggs, making multiple trips to serve all twelve bowls.
The young garrison soldier was already shouting and making a fuss as he poured hot water for his comrades to demonstrate the "magic trick." Shen Miao quietly slipped back from the kitchen to the rear courtyard. She pushed open the door of the room where Shen Ji and Sister Xiang were hiding and saw Shen Ji still gripping a kitchen knife as if ready for battle. The sight almost made her laugh. "Shen Ji, what exactly did you say to those patrolling garrison soldiers when you went for the exam?"
Shen Ji, still clutching the knife, blinked in confusion. "Nothing much. They asked me where I bought the noodle soup, so I told them to come to our shop."
Shen Miao silently gave him a thumbs-up.
That was some hardcore advertising—enough to nearly scare the soul out of her.
She returned to the shop, where the burly garrison soldiers had already prepared their instant noodles and were now slurping them down with gusto. The entire noodle shop had become a sea of braised instant noodle aroma, and even she felt a little hungry just smelling it.
Stepping outside for some fresh air, she suddenly heard a commotion near another eatery with a sign that read "Deng Wu’s Fresh Fish Soup." A plainly dressed woman in her fifties was tightly holding the hand of a tall, sturdy girl around seventeen or eighteen, only to be rudely shoved out by the shop’s waiter. The man waved his arms impatiently, as if swatting away a fly.
"Are you here to mock us, woman? Your daughter is clearly dimmer than a three-year-old child, and you have the nerve to bring her here looking for work? Get out! Get out! Don’t come back! Go on, shoo! What terrible luck first thing in the morning—don’t ruin our business!"
The woman’s eyes reddened with anger, tears welling in her weary, sagging eyelids. But in the end, she said nothing. She simply tightened her grip on her daughter, whose dull expression showed no understanding of what was happening, and turned away in silence.
The mother and daughter walked heavily past Shen Miao’s shop, the mother dragging her daughter—who stood a full head taller—along with slumped shoulders.
As they passed by, Shen Miao caught a glimpse of them.
A single glance was all it took for her heart to clench.
Both mother and daughter were dressed plainly in coarse brown short jackets and matching narrow-legged trousers. The mother looked far older than her years—thin, her back slightly hunched from years of hardship. Yet she had raised her daughter to be tall, strong, and rosy-cheeked. The girl’s features, however, were unusual: wide-set eyes, a flat nose bridge, and a vacant expression. Her mouth hung slightly open, as if she wanted to speak but could only manage short, garbled sounds.
"Ma… Ma…"
Shen Miao heard her struggle to form the word, calling for her mother.
The woman lowered her head, and the tears she had been holding back finally fell.
